The Berserker’s Second Playthrough Novel - Chapter 104

Chapter 104
## Chapter: 104

### Chapter Title: Judgment of Atala (7)

—

Within the lavish sitting area of a grand estate, a titan of a man and a wealthy merchant sat across from one another.

Yubik Agrámendus finished his drink in a single gulp, fixing his gaze on Kadim. Bolstered by the sting of the alcohol, he finally found his voice.

“Excellent, truly excellent. You are performing marvelously, Demon Slayer… Neutralizing the Northern Spear with a single strike and gliding through the qualifiers—those are magnificent feats. It is thanks to your presence that this competition is looking at financial returns beyond anything we imagined…”

The arrival of the ‘Demon Slayer’ had transformed the primary tournament into a legendary sensation. The revenue generated just from the preliminary rounds was already matching the total take of the previous year’s grand finale.

Yet, despite the profit, Yubik’s face remained clouded.

“And yet… ahem, be that as it may…”

“……”

“Would it be possible for you to… perhaps restrain yourself slightly moving forward? I realize it isn’t your fault, truly, but the other mercenary leaders are lodging formal protests. They suspect you of some underhanded trickery… and the spectators are grumbling that the bouts are over far too quickly…”

Kadim folded his muscular arms and let out a sharp pop from his neck.

“It isn’t a matter of my strength—it is a matter of their inadequacy. Why am I being criticized for the fact that you provide weaklings who perish after one swing of my axe?”

“……He is no longer among the living, so his reputation is moot, but the Northern Spear was no fragile fighter. In a close-quarters brawl, he was a warrior who could have arguably defeated anyone aside from Agon’s Furious Horn. But who could have anticipated someone launching an axe from the far side of the pit and actually connecting?”

“If that is the case, there is no reason to delay. Bring me Agon’s Furious Horn this instant. If he can endure, you will have the prolonged spectacle you desire.”

“……”

Since they required a high volume of matches to maximize their margins, that suggestion was out of the question. Yubik wiped his tired face and exhaled a heavy breath.

“Phew… Very well, I won’t demand that you hold back your power. However, before the main bracket commences, would you agree to a single exhibition bout? It would serve to quiet the crowd’s annoyance and give me the breathing room I need to handle the other leaders…”

“……”

Kadim only gave his consent after an additional promise was made: the date of the finals would be moved up in return for his cooperation.

However, the moment he stepped into the sands of the arena, he felt a pang of regret for his decision.

This was not a standard confrontation against trained warriors.

“Waaaaaaah, Demon Slayeeeeer!!”

“Slaughter them! Tear every one of them apart!!”

The fans behind the protective grates were howling like rabid animals. The only difference now was that there were animalistic figures inside the ring with him as well.

“Hnnngh… guh… hnnnngh…”

“P-please, I beg you… show mercy, please…”

These were not predators, but sightless creatures paralyzed by dread.

To appease a public that had grown bored of simple duels, the stadium organizers had devised various gruesome distractions. This ‘Blind Hunt’ was a primary example. The objective was straightforward: for a designated duration, a group of slaves—arms bound and eyes covered—would scramble in terror while a gladiator pursued and executed as many as possible.

“Kill them! Death! Death! Death!”

“Hunt them down, Demon Slayer! Give us a bloodbath!”

“Hnnngh, spare me… please…”

“Move! Don’t just stand there—get away!!”

The masses had already seen the cold efficiency with which the Demon Slayer carved through men. They screamed for more carnage, desperate for a repeat of his brutality. The slaves, white-faced with horror, fumbled in a hopeless attempt to stay alive.

A shadow, deeper than the void, settled over Kadim’s features.

He did not execute gladiators out of a love for gore. They were there with the intent to take his life. Those men had walked into the killing floor by choice, chasing gold and reputation. Had the scales been tipped differently, Kadim would be the one turned into a stain on the floor.

But these slaves were not the same. They held no malice toward him, and they had not volunteered for this. They had been reduced to this pathetic state by the cruelty of others.

He had no intention of feeding the appetites of these vultures with the blood of the innocent. Kadim looked toward the boxes reserved for the elite. Rather than chasing the captives, he pushed open the heavy gate and walked out of the fighting area of his own accord.

Kiiiiiing…

“Wh-what is this?”

“Where are you going, Demon Slayer?! Finish off those rats first!!”

Turning a deaf ear to the roar of the crowd, he ascended toward the VIP gallery. A contingent of hired guards stood in his path, but they were insignificant obstacles. He rendered them unconscious with ease and marched up to Yubik, whose heavy face was shaking with fright.

“Wh-what are you doing?! The fans are waiting for a show! Return to the pit and dispatch the targets!”

“Understood. But those creatures are nothing but bone—there is no sport in hunting them.”

“……?”

Yubik didn’t grasp the meaning immediately. But as Kadim walked toward him holding a blindfold, the terrifying reality of Kadim’s intent dawned on him.

Before he could be turned into the next victim, the Arena King scrambled to end the demonstration and provided a full refund to every person in the stands.

—

Following the demise of the Northern Spear, the various commanders of the mercenary groups in Agon were in a state of panic.

“The Northern Spear… Rumark… ugh… grrr…”

“……”

His patron, the leader of that particular mercenary band, had been reduced to a broken man. The rest of the group was just as grim.

If the Spear had fallen in a legendary duel, there might be a path forward. But their greatest asset had been swatted away like a common pest. They no longer had any idea how to challenge the monstrosity known as the Demon Slayer.

In the midst of the silence, a suggestion was put forth.

“……Since the situation is this dire, why not put Malkes forward for the opening match of the tournament?”

“……!!”

The commanders were even more startled by this than by the previous defeat.

The ‘Vile Hunter’ Malkes.

He was a fighter boasting a record of twenty-three wins and zero losses, yet he had almost no fans to his name. The vast majority of his triumphs were the result of illegal moves, hidden pitfalls, and treacherous tactics.

Yet, the Vile Hunter had never been barred from the sands.

Every play needs a villain to contrast the hero. He invited the hatred of the crowd, offering them a sense of righteous anger. His appearances ensured high engagement, so the Arena King had always turned a blind eye to his foul play.

The uncertainty lay in whether those same tactics would be permitted against the Demon Slayer…

“This has become a fight for our very survival against the big man! He has completely lost his senses over this gold mine he calls the ‘Demon Slayer.’ At this point, the boss will shield him no matter what happens. Even if he murders every last warrior we own!”

“Then is it not wiser to stay away from the Demon Slayer? He is clearly too volatile…”

“No, it’s the opposite! We have to break the boss’s obsession! Set the snares, use the toxins—eliminate the Demon Slayer by any means! The boss will try to protect him until he’s dead, but once he is gone, what recourse does he have? If he is a businessman, he won’t burn his bridges with us just for a dead man!”

“……”

The mercenary leaders looked at one another and finally consented to deploy Malkes.

Though, in the back of their minds, they each decided they would blame the person who suggested the idea if the plan failed.

—

By this point, every gladiator was well aware of the Demon Slayer’s terrifying reputation. Being picked to fight him usually left a man looking as though he were walking to the gallows.

However, the Vile Hunter Malkes reacted differently.

He erupted into a fit of laughter, unable to mask his sheer delight.

“Heh… heh heh heh heh…”

The greatest thrill of his life was using treacherous methods to take down powerful enemies he could never hope to beat in a fair duel. He was ecstatic at the prospect of taking down the man everyone was talking about.

For Malkes, the hunt did not start in the arena. It began the moment the target was identified. Even with the fight days away, he was already plotting and collecting information.

‘Yes, poison is always the most dependable route…’

Tainting the meals, or smearing the blades. It was a common strategy, but its simplicity made it effective.

However, a standard toxin would not suffice. The rumors suggested that the Demon Slayer had used some form of ‘heresy’ to unnaturally bolster his physique. There was a chance a normal poison might be ignored by his system.

Consequently, Malkes sought out the illicit markets of Agon and purchased a specific ‘deadly poison.’

It was a venom that no mortal, regardless of their resilience, could endure. Once it entered the bloodstream, it triggered vivid hallucinations, rotted the internal organs, caused hemorrhaging from every pore, had no known cure, and resulted in a certain, painful death.

“A price of 10,000 rudes. And keep my involvement a secret…”

“Heh heh, of course, of course… heh heh heh heh…”

“……”

This substance was notoriously difficult to manage and was even sought after by the Magic Tower; it had only recently become available due to a spike in supply. Malkes held the vial as if it were a holy relic and slipped away from the market.

He had already devised the perfect way to administer it.

‘Before or after his bouts, that small, bearded servant often brings the Demon Slayer a cup of wine… I’ll swap it for the poisoned batch, and he’ll never suspect a thing…’

Just before the start of the main tournament, Malkes put his scheme into motion.

He crouched behind a partition, peering through a small hole to witness the result.

“Master, if you are parched, would you care for some wine?”

The drink had already been switched with the lethal concoction. The boy, unaware of the danger, held it out. When the Demon Slayer took the cup, the Vile Hunter believed the hunt was over.

But the Demon Slayer did not take a sip.

“……”

He stared down at the dark, crimson liquid with a look of disgust.

He seemed to interrogate the boy, then fixed a sharp gaze toward the wall where Malkes was hiding. The hunter thought he had been spotted and froze in place.

But the man didn’t move toward him; he simply walked away. He left the full cup sitting on a nearby chair.

‘……Curse it, did it fail?’

His frustration was short-lived. He had already prepared his throwing blades and his sword with the same toxin. The Vile Hunter began to pull back to get ready for the fight.

But then, the Demon Slayer returned.

Malkes glued his eye back to the hole. The man was staring at the glass with eyes that looked bloodshot and strained.

“……”

His hands were shaking, and his mouth was set in a hard line. His frame shuddered slightly, and his skin began to flush. He looked like a man fighting a desperate addiction, trying to resist the very thing he craved most.

‘……What is wrong with him?’

As Malkes watched with growing confusion.

Without warning, the Demon Slayer seized the cup and drained it in a single motion.

He drank it like a man dying of thirst—driven, frantic, leaving nothing behind. He even looked around the room as if searching for more. His red eyes were filled with a dark, primal fixation.

Stunned by the strange behavior, Malkes was nearly paralyzed with shock. But he recovered, moved away from the wall with a twisted smile, and hurried to his starting position.

He waited for the match to begin, expecting his prey to start coughing up blood and collapse the moment the poison took hold.

—

The heavy strike of the gong echoed through the air.

DOOOONG!

The outcome, however, took a bizarre turn. As the match commenced, a fighter did indeed spit out blood and fall.

But it was not the Demon Slayer—it was Malkes.

Stab!

“G-guhk…”

Twiiiist!

The metal through his throat was rotated and then violently pulled back. Blood sprayed out, the taste of iron filling his mouth and lungs, making his stomach turn. He tried to take a breath, but only a red foam rose in his throat.

“Guh… glrrrk… glrrrk…”

The blinding pain caused his world to shrink. The Vile Hunter looked up in desperation at the man who had ruined him. His dying eyes seemed to scream the questions:

Did you know the wine was tainted? If you didn’t, why wait to drink it? If you did, why did you return to consume it so greedily?

How could any man ingest ‘demon blood’ and not only live, but become an even more terrifying beast?

“……”

Kadim offered no explanation. He simply brought his heel down on Malkes’s head with crushing force.

Splat-crunch!

Under the glowing, crimson stare of the berserker, the head that had birthed so many treacherous plots was reduced to nothing more than a ruined pulp.